


the horrors of monogamous matrimony

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Series: in which giles and jenny get married [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, fluff ridiculousness and an insane amount of sarcasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27504421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: As they hurried down the hall and towards the front gardens, something finally registered with Jenny. “Did you just say…life partner?”“Oh, so youdidnotice that,” said Rupert, and tossed a quick grin over his shoulder.
Relationships: Jenny Calendar/Rupert Giles
Series: in which giles and jenny get married [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2192832
Comments: 41
Kudos: 53





	1. the family dinner

**Author's Note:**

> i've missed writing fic! i don't have a LOT of time these days, but i wanted to squeeze something in, so: here. have some silly pontifications on giles, jenny, and marriage, because i refuse to believe they would get married traditionally but LOVE the idea of them getting married in an interconnected string of accidental sarcastic events. 
> 
> also i was thinking about the age difference between giles and jenny and wanted to integrate that too, because some fics i have seen just age jenny up and act like she and giles are both in the same place of "settled professional super close to a midlife crisis" and they're ??? not ??? there's so much that can be done with that???
> 
> i'm dividing this fic into three chapters, but they're all going up tonight!

_“So,”_ said Mr. Giles.

Jenny, who barely trusted herself to not try and stab someone at this table with one of the fondue forks, focused instead on Rupert’s hand, which had been resting on her knee throughout the entire meal. A handful of Council members had given said hand disparaging looks, their eyes flashing up to Rupert as though they were trying to figure out what kind of midlife crisis had prompted him to chase down a lady fifteen years his junior—which, of course, wasn’t the case at all. Rupert’s hand on Jenny’s knee was really less “possessive older man” and more “please don’t stab a Council member at this table with a fondue fork,” but given that none of these people had ever bothered to get to _know_ Rupert enough to earn the right to judge him on his life choices, there was a solid chance that his attempts might be in vain.

Rupert shot Jenny a half-reproving, half-pleading look out of the corner of his eye, then said, “Yes, Dad?”

“Rupert, I hate to be so blunt,” said Mr. Giles, lowering his voice so that the rest of the table couldn’t hear them (even though the rest of the table was very obviously attempting to listen in), “but this is a _family_ engagement. A _Council_ matter. I invited you to this dinner to begin bridging the gap between yourself and the Council, and having your _lady friend_ here makes it somewhat difficult.”

 _Fondue fork time,_ thought Jenny, and reached for the item in question. Rupert caught her hand. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said, placing Jenny’s hand back at her side and giving her a much less furtive Look. “Jenny and I have been in a committed relationship for nearly three years now. Having my _long-term partner_ at my side during a family engagement is only logical.”

Mr. Giles raised an eyebrow. “Long-term?” he said. “Three years certainly isn’t anything to scoff at, I’ll give you that—but if three years isn’t enough for you to properly settle down, it’s clear that she isn’t _long-term_ material.”

Jenny raised an eyebrow. “Tactful.”

Rupert let out an exhausted breath. “Jenny, I’ll handle this,” he said.

“Yes, _clearly_ an equal partnership,” said Mr. Giles with the same long-suffering exasperation as his son. On _him,_ however, it was entirely unearned. “Rupert, I understand that you enjoy the company of a pretty young thing, but you need to be _reasonable_ when it comes to bringing them along to family occasions.”

 _“Them?”_ said Jenny, biting back a laugh. “He can _barely_ handle _just me!”_

“Jenny, _why,”_ said Rupert, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes tightly shut. After a moment, he opened his eyes again, turning his attention to his father. “Dad, I’ve brought _no one_ but Jenny to see you for the _last three years._ Are you _truly_ attempting to insinuate that she’s some kind of—of _arm candy?”_

“I do look cute in a slutty cocktail dress,” said Jenny.

 _“Jenny,”_ said Rupert tiredly.

Jenny let out a sharp breath, trying her best to calm herself down. As pissed off as she was at his piece of shit dad, she didn’t _actually_ want to make the situation worse for Rupert. “I’m not kidding, Mr. Giles,” she said thinly. “You need an actual reality check if you think that Rupert and I are anything other than serious.”

 _“You_ I have no interest in talking to,” said Mr. Giles. “Sit down and be quiet. You’ve done enough damage already.”

That did it. “Oh, _I’ve_ done enough damage?” shouted Jenny, standing up so fast that she sent her chair wobbling. Rupert, who had honestly probably seen this coming, buried his face in his hands as half the table turned to look at them. _“Me?_ I’m not the sociopathic asshole who told his _traumatized son_ that all he was good for was helping other people! How about _you_ sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up, _Mr. Giles—”_

“Know your place!” Mr. Giles shouted back, leaping from his chair to loom over Jenny. “You are an insolent child who has _no_ respect for the age-old traditions of the Council, and that _flagrant_ disregard has spread to my son! I can only _hope_ that he has the good sense to recognize this as another ridiculous rebellion against his calling and find a _suitable_ wife, rather than parade you around on his arm as an attempt to elicit a reaction from his betters!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Rupert into his hands. “Dad, do you _want_ to get stabbed with a fondue fork?”

“You think my relationship with Rupert is about _you?”_ Jenny demanded.

“I think you’re nothing but a vapid little girl whose narcissistic tendencies have landed _my_ son in hot water!” Mr. Giles retorted.

“That’s ENOUGH!” roared Rupert, standing up from _his_ chair so fast that he knocked it over.

This surprised Mr. Giles enough to shut him up. Jenny, however, knew where this was going, and took the opportunity to pick up the fondue fork, twirling it threateningly in the way she’d seen Buffy wield a particularly sharp dagger. Stepping back, she smiled a little at Rupert’s hand on her shoulder—but her smile faded when she saw the genuine fury in his eyes. “Rupert, it’s fine,” she said hastily. “Seriously, it’s fine, don’t—”

“Apologize to Jenny, Dad,” said Rupert.

Mr. Giles was fuming. “I will do _no_ such thing, Rupert,” he said shortly. “Her behavior has been _appalling—”_

 _“Your_ behavior has been appalling,” said Rupert coldly. “I’ll certainly let you cast aspersions on _my_ decisions—your opinion on the choices I make stopped mattering when you reprimanded me for _not_ sending my Slayer to die in a barbaric tradition meant to _kill her._ But you will _not_ insult Jenny by blaming her for the choices _I_ have made, nor will you insult _me_ by assuming I am ruled entirely by hormones and insecurity. She is _not_ an attempt to _elicit a reaction—”_

Mr. Giles scoffed.

“—and I will _not_ attempt to justify the _truth_ to you,” Rupert continued, unbothered. “You aren’t _worth_ that.”

 _That_ seemed to strike a chord with Mr. Giles. “Rupert,” he said in a very different tone of voice.

“My life doesn’t revolve around you, Dad,” said Rupert steadily. “Nor does it center around the Council. I have an incredible life partner, an incomparably talented Slayer, and a family who looks up to me for the man I _am,_ not the man they expect me to be. Your opinion on Jenny, in the end, does not matter to me—but I shall not have you slander her without consequence any longer. Accept her as a permanent part of my life or I will not return to England again—for _any_ reason.”

_“Rupert Edmund Giles—”_

Jenny, who had been trying to fit the fondue fork into her purse, dropped it with a clatter when Rupert tugged on her elbow. Grinning at Mr. Giles in a way that she hoped was _unbearably_ smug, she tucked her arm into Rupert’s, letting him tug her gently out of the dining room.

“Well, that was a disaster,” said Rupert, who didn’t sound too surprised by it. “I did mean it, though. We really aren’t putting ourselves through that again.”

As they hurried down the hall and towards the front gardens, something finally registered with Jenny. “Did you just say… _life partner?”_

“Oh, so you _did_ notice that,” said Rupert, and tossed a quick grin over his shoulder.

_“Rupert—”_

“Jenny,” said Rupert, “we can talk later _and_ more seriously about the matter when we are _not_ speedily vacating the premises. I suspect my father will be in quick pursuit as soon as our indecorous exit has fully registered with him, and I _would_ like to be in the car before he catches up.”

As if on cue, Jenny heard the sound of thunderous footsteps behind them. “Okay okay let’s go!” she giggled, the mood of the night turning on a dime as they picked up the pace in a clumsy, laughing escape. “Oh my god, he’s _pissed—”_

“He’d be much slower if you’d landed a hit with that fondue fork,” Rupert said breathlessly.

“Which I _could have done_ if _you_ hadn’t been trying to _stop me_ from doing that all night!”

“That is an unfortunately good point. I’ll keep that in mind.” Rupert pushed the front door open with his shoulder, tugging Jenny through a little too fast and catching her in his arms halfway. “Oh—”

“Hi!” said Jenny, grinning up at him.

The footsteps slowed to a stop, and Rupert looked back, eyes fixing on a spot not too far behind them. Jenny followed his gaze, and wasn’t too surprised to see Mr. Giles standing a few yards down the hallway—but _was_ surprised to see that the expression on his face looked more confused than anything.

“Goodbye, Father,” said Rupert, and inclined his head. Without missing a beat, he turned again to Jenny, pulling her out the door and into the moonlit night.

* * *

“So,” said Jenny. _“Life partner.”_

Rupert blinked, then smiled a little. “I-I suppose I did mean it,” he said.

“I didn’t doubt that. Unzip me?”

“Wh—o-oh,” said Rupert, and got up from the hotel bed to gently tug down the zipper of Jenny’s dress. “Then—what do you want to talk about?”

Jenny closed her eyes for a moment as his fingers brushed her skin, then opened them again, stepping carefully out of her dress as it puddled on the floor. “You know I’ve never been fully invested in the concept of marriage,” she began.

“Oh—Jenny, _don’t_ let him get to you,” said Rupert vehemently. “Just because my father has his own antiquated ideas about what makes a _serious_ relationship doesn’t mean that any of that has to apply to _our_ situation—what?” At Jenny’s badly hidden laughter, he rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m _well_ aware that _me_ calling someone antiquated is extremely funny to you. That isn’t the point at all. It— _stop_ laughing—”

Still giggling, Jenny crossed the room to tug one of Rupert’s t-shirts out of the suitcase, pulling it over her head. “That’s _not_ my point,” she said affectionately. “I just—” Turning to meet Rupert’s eyes, she felt her heart skip a beat. “Me too,” she said. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

“In reference to…?”

Averting her gaze—and still managing an awkward smile—Jenny said, “I have an incredible life partner.”

“…ah,” said Rupert softly, and smiled back, a blush rising in his cheeks.


	2. the proposal

“Oooh, _shiny!”_ gasped Anya, grabbing Jenny’s hand to examine the ring. “What brought _this_ on? Two years ago, you were telling all of us that you’d rather jump into a vat of boiling oil than subject yourself to the horrors of monogamous matrimony—”

“Yeah,” said Jenny, turning pink. “Well. If monogamy’s already happening to me, I don’t see any reason to _not_ make it official.”

“What’s this about monogamy?” said Rupert.

Hastily, Jenny hid her hand. “NOTHING EVERYONE HAHA LET’S GET BACK TO WORK,” she said very loudly, sliding the ring covertly into her back pocket. “WOW ANYA QUIT CROWDING ME ABOUT MONOGAMY OH MY GOD—”

“…Ms. Calendar,” said Buffy, who had always been frustratingly good at seeing through Jenny’s extremely bad lies, “by any chance did Giles _not_ give you that shiny bit of jewelry you’ve been flashing for the last fifteen minutes?”

In retrospect, Jenny thought, her impulse control might need a little bit more work. She’d only found the ring in a drawer under the Magic Box counter about fifteen minutes ago, and hadn’t really thought past “this is mine and therefore deserves to be shown off.” And it _was_ hers, unless Rupert had some other lover on the side that he was planning to propose to (which was extremely unlikely, given that Jenny had become very effective at shutting _anyone_ down who looked at _her_ Rupert for too long). “You know, Buffy, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, and added on a breezy smile for good measure.

Rupert, who looked somewhat resigned, held his hand out. Palm-up.

Jenny was going to bluff her way out of this one or die trying. “Morning, sweetie,” she said warmly, placing her hand on top of Rupert’s and lacing their fingers together. “How are you holding up?”

“All things considered, I think I could be doing better,” said Rupert. “Jenny, you _do_ know you’re going to have to give me that ring back, don’t you?”

“Why,” said Jenny, “are you planning on giving it to some other girl?” and realized a little too late that this had come out more jealous than playful. _Then_ she realized her _bigger_ mistake, and tacked on a hasty, “What ring?” for good measure. This didn’t seem to work very well.

“…there really is a lot to unpack in that statement,” said Rupert, his voice shaking with laughter. “Jenny. I _would_ like to propose to you properly—”

“You snooze, you lose,” said Jenny. “Also, who hides a ring in a _junk drawer?”_

“Why are they like this,” said Buffy to Xander. “It would be so much easier on us if at some point they’d _stopped_ being _like this._ Don’t grown-ups mellow with age?”

“Jenny’s ten years younger than me, didn’t you remember?” said Rupert. “My dad likes to call her my _midlife crisis.”_

“Actually, I think he called me an _insolent child,”_ said Jenny, “and we’re getting _extremely_ off topic. Rupert, if you’re gonna hide your ring badly enough that I find it _that_ fast—”

“It’s been in there for nearly five months,” said Rupert.

 _That_ got Jenny’s attention. “What?”

“Aaaand that’s our cue!” said Willow very loudly, grabbing Buffy and Xander (who were watching the Calendar-Giles Sickeningly Adorable Engagement Fiasco unfold with rapt attention) and towing them both out the door. “Anya, Tara, you coming?”

“Um—congratulations!” said Tara, who was giggling a little herself.

 _“Don’t_ screw it up,” Anya added in Rupert’s direction. “She’s from a very powerful and vengeful clan—”

“—well aware, but Jenny’s not got a vengeful bone in her body,” said Rupert affectionately, stepping closer to place his hand on the small of Jenny’s back. “Darling,” he added, smiling fondly at Jenny, “did you ever consider that I gave you _more_ than enough time to find that ring on your own?”

“Do _not_ try and play your inability to decide on the perfect way to propose as some kind of ridiculous romantic gesture,” said Jenny, whose knees had gone a little weak at Rupert’s adoring smile. _This fucking man,_ she thought with mingled resentment and affection, _has absolutely goddamn ruined me._ “I bet you’ve got reservations at that Mexican place we went to on our first date, right?”

“Um,” said Rupert, and went a little pink.

“What is it?”

Rupert mumbled something under his breath.

“Speak up, sweetie.”

“…monster trucks,” said Rupert.

Jenny stared at him. “You were gonna propose to me at a _monster truck rally?”_

Rupert, who had now gone _very_ pink, gave her a shy grin. “Well, I’ve been looking into it since June,” he informed her, “but it _did_ take a few months for my aunts to steal the Giles family ring from my dad and send it to me. That is, the _stealing_ didn’t take a few months. International shipping, however—”

“Oh my god,” laughed Jenny, tipping her head forward to bump her forehead against Rupert’s. “Oh my _god.”_

“I _hope_ it isn’t _too_ romantic, I know you’ve a bit of a distaste for the antiquated trappings of a traditional proposal—”

“You were going to bring out the _Giles family ring_ at a _monster truck rally?”_

“Well, it _was_ an idea but I hadn’t _settled_ yet and besides which part of me _did_ like the idea of you finding it _first_ because it might spark a _conversation—”_ Rupert cut himself off. “Actually,” he said, “one thing at a time,” and pulled Jenny into a deep kiss.

Jenny sighed happily, draping her arms around his neck and standing on tiptoe. Rupert’s hand was rubbing circles on the small of her back, then dipping lower—god, she didn’t at _all_ miss the nervous hesitance that had characterized the first year of their relationship when it came to suggestive touching. Hell, this kind of thing could be categorized as _groping,_ she thought, his hand sliding neatly into her back pocket—

Wait.

Goddamn it.

“That’s _mine!”_ Jenny objected, breaking the kiss to try and wrest the engagement ring from Rupert’s hand.

“Ah ah ah,” said Rupert, holding it well above Jenny’s head and looking _intolerably_ smug. “I do believe a question has to be asked?”

“Rupert Giles,” said Jenny, leveling him with a death glare, “will you hand me my ring, or will you end up getting bodily shoved into the glass display case?”

“Bodily shoved into the glass display case,” said Rupert, giving Jenny a languid grin that made her _very_ glad Willow had gotten the rest of the kids out early. That girl had always had good instincts. “You know I like that sort of thing. But for now—”

“Jesus,” said Jenny exasperatedly. _“Yes._ How is that not obvious? I would think that—”

Rupert cut her off with another kiss, gently lifting her left hand to briefly rest it against his heart. He raised her hand, then, lightly kissing the knuckles before gently sliding the ring onto Jenny’s finger. “My Ms. Calendar,” he said, in that honey-sweet voice he used only when they were alone.

“My Mr. Giles,” said Jenny, and if it was a little less barbed and a little more dizzy with romantic delight, no one was there to see it but the one person who brought it out in her to begin with.


	3. the reception

Arnold Giles prided himself in his paternal instincts. Though the little _scene_ at the Council dinner had indeed confused him, its true intent had become clear when he found the Giles family ring missing: Rupert’s ridiculous little plaything was an attempt to provoke not the Council, but his _father._ The ring had been stolen for a double-sided reason: both to string the impetuous girl along a bit longer and to get the attention of his long-suffering father. Really, Arnold thought, one would hope that Rupert had grown _out_ of this sort of rebellion—but it was clear, now, that the girl had been a _terrible_ influence on him. Certainly not the _cause_ of all of this—she was clearly laboring under delusions of being _much_ more important to Rupert than she truly was—but her presence in Rupert’s life had been a contributing factor nonetheless.

(On longer, darker nights, Arnold Giles thought of Rupert and Jenny standing in the open doorway, Rupert holding Jenny’s hands and smiling with a bright, unrestrained delight the likes of which Arnold hadn’t seen on his son’s face since that fateful incident with the Shard of Stronnos. But it was in the Giles tradition to discard the terrible truth of the matter, and this was a truth that Arnold could still yet bury if he tried hard enough.)

He arrived on a sunny Saturday, breezing into the Magic Box with the intention of rattling both Rupert and the girl. The girl, he had decided, would be wearing the engagement ring with smug and foolish pride, positively glowing with her perceived victory. Rupert, Arnold knew, would be _miserable_ by now, doubting his choices and realizing the folly of marrying a woman who stood so definitively against the Council. His son was smart—smart enough to feel the guilt and shame of his error, even if he refused to admit it.

No one looked up when the bell rang on the door. In fact, in the hustle and bustle of the party going on during _business hours,_ it wasn’t very clear whether anyone had even noticed Arnold at all.

“Oh, are you a friend of Giles’s?” came a voice, and a young woman’s strong hand clamped down on his upper arm. “You _look_ old and stuffy. Maybe you’re a Council goon. GILES,” yelled the girl, who Arnold was quickly realizing _must_ be the wayward Slayer, “IS THIS GUY A COUNCIL GOON?”

The party shifted a little as Arnold was dragged forward, revealing his _extremely_ sloshed son. “Oh, no, that’s just dad,” said Rupert airily, giving Arnold a vaguely dismissive wave before turning back to his plaything. She was wearing a bizarre multicolored dress that looked uncomfortably pagan, and not in the _respectable_ way either. “Jenny, _did_ you send him an RSVP without telling me?” At which point he and the young woman who Arnold _refused_ to refer to by name dissolved into heaps of drunken laughter.

“Like I _would!”_ slurred the detestable young lady, leaning heavily on Rupert. “Oh my _god,_ could you imagine? That shit’s grounds for _divorce,_ Rupert.”

“Mm, I’m never divorcing you,” said Rupert, gathering her into his arms and nuzzling sloppily at her neck. “Never, _never—”_

 _“Giles,”_ said the Slayer with bone-deep tiredness. “Are you _seriously_ wasted enough to try and make it to second base with your wife while your _dad_ is standing _right in front of you?”_

“I’m _sorry?”_ said Arnold sharply.

“You _are_ his dad, right?” said the Slayer, turning a bemused expression on him. “He’s really drunk right now. I don’t even know _how_ much champagne he’s had because my stupid boyfriend keeps topping him off—STOP THAT, SPIKE,” she yelled in the direction of a strangely pale young man, who shot her a big grin in return.

“No, I—they’re _married?”_

“You’re not here for the reception?”

“This is _not_ a _reception,”_ said Arnold disbelievingly. “And if this were—but he didn’t even _invite_ me.” This didn’t make _sense._ It _didn’t._ What was Rupert doing, picking a young, brash, disrespectful woman, if _not_ as a direct attempt to upset the Council or Arnold himself?

“You are _so_ drunk,” Rupert’s apparent _wife_ was saying in a loud whisper, “are you even going to be able to get it up, or—?”

“Sh-sh-sh,” Rupert loudly whispered back, covering his wife’s mouth. _“Not_ in front of the children.”

“Oh, no, we heard that,” said a dark-haired boy in the background. “Spike, please pour me a close-to-lethal amount of alcohol. I need to get blackout drunk so I don’t have to think about Giles and Ms. Calendar having sex.”

“What did you think they were going to do on their _wedding night?”_ piped up a teenage girl sitting on a nearby table. “Play checkers?”

“This is your fucking fault,” the Slayer informed Spike, who was by this point in hysterics.

“Rupert,” said Arnold, but Rupert didn’t hear him. His face was turned towards Jenny, his eyes alight with life and warmth as he rested his cheek against hers.

And then Jenny’s eyes flicked to Arnold’s, and a sharp, threatening smile flitted briefly across her face. Turning her head back towards Rupert’s, she said, with all of the volume and subtlety of the severely intoxicated, “Absolutely _no one_ is ever gonna hurt you or exploit you or _use you_ again, baby, or I’m gonna cut them into pieces with a thousand really really sharp knives. Okay?”

“Your eyes are the prettiest eyes in the whole—eyes,” said Rupert happily, and kissed her.

“Rupert,” said Arnold again. That feeling from the dinner was back—that bewilderment, that misery. Had he so misjudged his own son?

“You know, Mr. Giles,” said a young girl at his elbow, looking up at him through a curtain of straw-blond hair with a soft, steely gaze, “I really don’t know if you should be here. This kind of thing is family-only, a-and Ms. Calendar was _extremely_ specific with the guest list. I’d know if you were on it.”

“I’m his _father,”_ said Arnold.

“Around here,” said the girl, “that doesn’t mean as much as you seem to think it does.”

“I don’t think you have the right—”

 _“We’re_ his family,” said the girl, pushing her hair away from her face. Her eyes were the color of a calm and dangerous tropical sea. “Mr. Giles, if you’re not invited, do you really think he wanted you to be here?”

Arnold looked again at Jenny and Rupert. Jenny didn’t notice him, this time—and this time he saw, again, the careful way his son touched this woman, even inebriated to the point of unsteadiness. Rupert’s thumb brushed his new wife’s cheek, his smile soft. Arnold had never seen his son this happy.

“I think,” he said thickly, “that I should leave.”

“I think you should,” said the girl, and stepped aside, clearing his path to the door.

* * *

Tara watched Mr. Giles senior go with a quiet satisfaction, her eyes darting back to the happy couple as soon as she was certain he was gone for good. Mr. Giles and Ms. Calendar were gracelessly entwined on a single chair that _really_ wasn’t big enough for the both of them, Ms. Calendar’s cheek on Mr. Giles’s shoulder as he talked in drunken, pinwheeling sentences about the demonology volume he’d been reading a week or two ago. “I _do_ sometimes wish I could have seen them when they first started dating,” she said to Willow.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” said Willow firmly. “They broke up like three times in that first year. It was ridiculous.”

 _“You’re_ ridiculous,” said Ms. Calendar without opening her eyes.

“Mm hm,” said Willow, striding over to drop a kiss to the top of Ms. Calendar’s head. “Tara and I are gonna go home, ‘kay? You two crazy kids have a good honeymoon.”

“Thank you, Willow,” mumbled Ms. Calendar, a small smile on her face as she raised her head to look at Willow and Tara.

Their auras were glowing, Tara noticed. Their colors blended in places, but Ms. Calendar’s electric green was never dulled by Mr. Giles’s rust brown—nor was his eclipsed by her brightness. You wouldn’t think it would work, but it did.


End file.
